The Good Ones
by averagemuggle
Summary: If memories are all they have left of her, they want to keep the good ones. Characters reactions and reflections to seeing Henrietta again. Post 419
1. Peter

"I promise you, she will be safe. Nina found a good family for her. She'll be with people who know how to help her hide her abilities but could never be connected to us. They won't touch her, they won't notice her. She'll be safe. She will."

"Will she be loved as much as she is with us?"

The last time he saw her, he could lift her up above his head, he'd run around their house making motor noise as she spread her arms out and squealed at the top of her lungs, "LOOK MOMMY! I'M AN AIRPLANE!" The last time he'd held her in his arms, she had been so small. He remembered how he held her against his chest, the Velcro on her ruby slippers (a pair of bright red toddler sneakers that she had smothered in glitter when he hadn't been watching her closely enough at her craft table) had come loose and the shoes threatened to fall off her tiny feet as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hands had been so pudgy, fumbling to grab at his shirt collar and then her mommy's hair. The last time he saw her, she had looked just like him. He remembered Olivia – Olivia – breathing, smiling, crouched over her when she was just a baby sucking contentedly on one of her toys, with that look of awe on her face as she pointed out his cheekbones and his ears and the crease between his eyebrows on a much younger, much more perfect face.

Now, she looks exactly like her mother, right down to that centered part in her hair that never, ever moved. He looks into his daughter's eyes and he sees Olivia. He touches his daughter's cheek and feels Olivia's skin, fair but rough, nowhere near as soft as when she was two and he would help her shave her bubble beard that she always grew during baths. He holds her against him and feels Olivia's strength, her feet planted firmly on the ground. But she leans into him, and her hands, her rough, slender hands, clutch at his back, not like when she was little and would wrap her arms around his neck when he held her. She does still bury her face into his neck.

Baby girl.

His little baby girl, all grown up. He can't help wondering who took care of her, how loved she was growing up, how many people have hurt her. And he fights to ward off the panic at what he wasn't there to protect her from. Without Olivia to calm down, he can't ignore his own anxiety. He remembers holding his love's tear-streaked face, warding off his own agony, only allowing himself to focus on easing hers.

"She'll be okay, Livy. She'll grow up and be happy, fall in love, have babies. Just not with us, not with us."

He'd thought he was wrong. After Bell betrayed them, showed them a long abandoned subway tunnel out of the city, only to tip off the Observers that Olivia Dunham was planning her escape that night, when they realized that they were doomed, Peter just wanted to hold Olivia one last time. He wanted to bury his face in her skin and commit the feeling of her body against his to memory before they were separated, and no doubt executed. Olivia fought, though. She knew it was beyond useless, she must have. But she fought, even as they dragged her away. They ignored Peter. They didn't even acknowledge him. They just tore Olivia, thrashing and screaming, out of the tunnel, away from him. His initial reaction had been to run after her, and he had almost caught up to them when he stopped, when he realized why Olivia hadn't given up and held onto him when it was obvious they were doomed. There was one thing Olivia would always fight for no matter how hopeless the situation.

He ran back into the city, to Walter and Astrid, to see if they knew where he could find someone, anyone, who knew where Nina had sent his daughter, someone who the Observers wouldn't have thought to read. But when he got there Walter and Astrid were panicking, when they saw Peter show up alone their panic increased and before Peter could scream that he needed to find his baby, the amber had already hardened.

Peter froze, knowing that if Bell told the Observers where he and Olivia were, there was very little doubt he had told them about Henrietta, and where she was.

But she is alive, and in his arms, and beautiful. And in this moment, he will not let himself grieve for a childhood he missed, or let his mind wander over what must have happened to Olivia (in the back of his mind, he knows exactly what happened to her, but he won't let himself admit it, will cling to the notion that he's been wrong before). He will hold Olivia's daughter, he will hold this person that he and Olivia created one night after a long boring day at work and a power outage and Olivia rolled onto his chest in bed and murmured that they should make a baby.

(The world had seemed so, so much better then. The bridge closed and the only threats were the odd crazed scientists who took their aspirations too far. And having a baby finally seemed like something they had time for. Olivia was going to take her full three months of maternity leave and not have to worry about the world ending. Peter was too. When they went in for that first sonogram and they heard the squishy sound of their baby's heartbeat, the future seemed so full of promise. He remembers the day she was born, skipping and running down the hallways of Massive Dynamic's health centre because he was on such a high that simply walking was impossible to find Walter and Astrid and exclaim "She's perfect!" He remembers Olivia holding her, the dazed and euphoric look on her face as she used their special connection to let Henrietta feel just how much she loved her, and how the baby almost immediately calmed down. The way she fussed when Peter took her out of her loving mother's arms for the first time, but calmed when he started talking to her, turned her head in recognition of his voice. He remembers tiny fingers and tiny toes, warm ivory skin, the way she looked at him with that goofy smile.

She was only four the last time he saw her. Small enough that he could lift her up and run around the house while she squealed in delight. It's impossible to comprehend that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who he carried to his and Olivia's bed after a bad dream so she could sleep between them and feel safe. But he looks into her eyes and sees the same bright green orbs that looked up at him through tears as little arms clung to his legs and promised she'd be good, so good, if he and mommy didn't go.

This is her, his little baby girl, not so little anymore. And he will continue to do what he has always done. Love her and protect her, make sure she is safe. He just prays that he hasn't failed already.


	2. Walter

"_You?"_

His memories fade more and more every day. He knows the people he loves, feels that connection, but cannot put his finger on every significant moment in these relationships. He knows that Peter is his son, remembers the day he was born and the intense wave of love that he brought with him. He remembers Peter dying, twice. And yet, he knows the man that Peter has become, knows that he somehow got him back, that he resisted at first but ultimately came to accept the remarkable man who called him father. He knows that they both love Olivia in very different ways. That he couldn't pick a better person for her than Peter. And he's proud that such an incredible woman chose his son to be the person whom she would allow to know her better than anyone else.

He has absolutely no memories of this young woman standing before him. But then her eyes go big as if begging him to remember and her lips upturn in a sad smile and he remembers his granddaughter pleading for one more milkshake before bed, the way she mastered the look that turned him into putty.

"_You?"_

He knows memories fade, so he clutches on to the good ones. Those are the ones that he wants to last. He remembers Peter's smile when Olivia told him that she was pregnant. He remembers Peter's high, euphoric expression and his voice much louder than needed when he exclaimed "She's perfect!"

He remembers the look of fear and uncertainty barely a day later. When the baby's cries and Peter's soothing but slightly panicked voice woke him up. And he found Peter in the nursery, body tense and voice shaky as he tried to comfort his daughter.

"_Hold her closer to your body, and relax, son. She can sense your stress."_

Peter's shoulders loosen a bit, he draws her closer into him, and rocks her gently, intently focused on the soothing phrases he's whispering to her. When she finally calms and Walter can see her little eyes droop closed, Peter carefully collapses into the plush rocking chair.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he heaves.

"No one expects you to know at this point. You've only been a father for forty-seven hours."

Peter doesn't take his words into much consideration, "I can't screw this up, Walter. I can't, she's too important."

"I know. But the truth is that, as long as she knows you love her unconditionally, any mistakes will only make her a stronger person."

Peter smiles, not genuinely, merely as an acknowledgment that he's heard his father's words before he turns his head to stare at his daughter in awe.

"I get it now," he whispers.

"What, son?"

"I get why you took me, why you were willing to shatter two worlds," Peter doesn't look up as he says it, even though Walter has no memories of Peter ever saying something so profound to him.

"There's nothing – nothing I won't do for her."

The room is silent, Peter seems to forget that Walter's even there as he rocks her back and forth, back and forth. He watches Peter's smile widen as she yawns, she turns, and she nestles into him.

"Olivia says she can feel her love for us," he whispers, "She loves me."

"She's very lucky to have you," Walter whispers back.

If there is one memory he wants to hold onto, it is that one.

Memories fade, and in some ways he is grateful that they do. He knows that it was a short while after Olivia announced she was carrying his grandchild and they stopped Bell from ending the world that they had to start working tirelessly to prevent the observers from taking it over. He knows that things didn't get really bad until a few weeks before the purge. He distantly recalls warning signs that would even tip off a civilian that something drastic was about to happen. But these memories are fading more and more with each day, as dark as he knows those last few months were, he doesn't dwell on the dark parts. Because, he remembers, for four years his life consisted of craft tables and jumbo sized puzzles. For four years he would work tirelessly in the lab with Peter until Olivia walked through the door at the end of the day with their favorite person in the world balanced on her hip. For four years that little girl would squeal for her daddy, run up to him for a hug, and then smile mischievously at him, her grandpa, before begging for a Red Vine. For four years a perfect little girl running around the lab in her father's pea coat and an oversized tin-foil hat could make him forget the events of the day, and the dark moments of his life that she wasn't a part of.

He remembers her, and that is more than enough for him.


	3. Astrid

"_You don't know who I am, do you?"_

The question obviously catches Little H off guard.

"Of course I do," she replies, "You're Agent Astrid Farnsworth, Walter Bishop's mother hen according to the stories."

Astrid smiles, "I guess that is what you would know me as," she says, "I mean, we were very careful to make sure there weren't any stories about you."

Little H doesn't speak. But Astrid sees something shift in her, and suddenly she's looking at her with a kind of hunger, as if she's desperately trying to view Astrid in a different light.

"Whenever your mom and dad had to be away from you, they liked to leave you with your grandpa, and since Walter is, well, Walter, when you were with him, so was I," Astrid explains.

Little H is still quiet, looking at her with a kind of desperation she can only compare to the time Olivia saw a little blonde girl walking down the street and thought maybe it was her.

"Did I use to play with your hair?" Little H asks.

The relief Astrid feels in that moment is so strong it forces out a giggle.

"Yeah, you did," she says, "When you were a baby, you had your dad's hair, dark and curly."

Little H is holding her breath. She is looking at her with real interest for the first time since she saved Astrid from the amber three days ago. She's not looking at her the way she looks at Peter, with unconditional love and joy just by being in his presence. She's looking at her almost the way she looks at Walter, her eyes looking over her rapidly, as if she holds answers to questions Little H has been wondering her entire life.

"It wasn't until you were a little older than two that your hair grew out blonde and straight," Astrid continues, "I remember your dad was so happy and your mom was so sad."

She stops talking at the mention of Olivia. Everyone so far has been pretty good about not mentioning her. Even Little H, mercifully, has been too engrossed with reconnecting with Peter that she hasn't asked about her mother yet. Astrid can tell that Peter wants to put off telling her about Olivia for as long as possible, and while Astrid understands that Peter must be trying to protect her, she knows that he is also putting it off because he's not yet ready to face the truth. He's not ready to accept the fact that Olivia is probably gone. But Astrid fears that the longer they let Little H carry hope that her mother will come back to her, the worse the blow will be when she learns the truth. She should tell her, she will tell her.

But Little H is looking at her as if she's begging her to continue. And Astrid decides that maybe she should give Little H a picture of who her mother was, let her imagine a living vivid picture of Olivia before darkening it with the dead truth.

Maybe Astrid's not ready to talk about it either.

"It was amazing," the Agent abruptly starts talking again, because she knows that if she only has so long before she starts sobbing, and she wants to tell Little H as much as possible before the sadness becomes too consuming to speak, "how the smallest change in you had the biggest effect on them, on us all. Anyways you, uh, you had loved to play with your curls and when they were gone you started playing with mine. You would - you'd pull them straight out, and then you'd laugh so hard when they bounced back."

There are tears running down Astrid's face, just a few, but still, tears. She's crying for the days that Little H spent balanced on her hip, running around the lab and sneaking into Gene's stall (a habit that Peter never found adorable, only unsanitary and dangerous). She's crying for a time when a little girl managed to create pockets of hope and even happiness in their quickly decomposing world. She's crying for time Olivia and Peter lost with their daughter. Most of all, she's crying for the young woman who now goes by Etta, who can barely remember her few years that Olivia and Peter somehow managed to keep sheltered and happy and innocent. And she looks up and sees Lit – no, Etta. She sees Etta's eyes brimming with tears. But she does not cry. She takes in a shaky breath instead. And she whispers her name.

"Atsy."

Hours later, they are still sitting at the coffee table. The hot chocolate Astrid made has gone cold in their hands, but Etta continues to take a miniscule sip every few minutes. There is a desperation in Etta to make the beverage last. She is drawing this out for as long as possible.

Astrid thanks God for that.

She has spent the past few hours telling Etta about every good thing that happened in those four years and nine months that she was with them. She's relieved there are so many. She's told her about Peter's crossed arms and furrowed brow as Walter held her steady atop Gene in her cowgirl costume. She's told her about the time she drew all over Walter's lab notes, and how that led to her getting her own miniature chalkboard in the lab. She's told her about when Walter called her in the middle of the night, hysterical, saying that they needed to go to the hospital, and how she sped there as fast as she could, not realizing that nothing was wrong, Olivia had just had the baby.

And just like that, Astrid falls into telling Etta about her mother.

"I remember we walked into the room and there's Olivia in bed, looking more exhausted than I've ever seen her, and a little pink bundle held so close to her chest. God she loved you," Astrid whispers, "I'd never seen her look so fierce, which is saying something. I was afraid to get too close to you. I was sure that if I made you cry your mom would quickly and silently kill me. But I got close and I looked at you, and you were so beautiful, and Olivia looked so happy. And she let me hold you and you were so calm and so cozy and so warm," Astrid grins, "And then you woke up."

Etta chuckles.

"You almost immediately started bawling and I swear Olivia snapped at me when she told me to give you back to her, but Walter and Peter don't believe me because the second you were back in her arms, Olivia was singing softly and letting you feel how much she loved you."

"Letting me feel how much she loved me?"

"Because of the Cortexiphan – you know about Cortexiphan?"

Etta nods, "It let her travel between universes and control things telekinetically."

"It also let her have a special bond with you," Astrid explains, remembering when Olivia was heavily pregnant, how she would sometimes seem to daze off, when really she was just revelling in a bond with her child that no one else had ever experienced, "Before you were even born, you and your mom were communicating. She said it wasn't with words, it was more with feelings. She said she could feel your mind, could feel you just perfectly content floating in her belly. And when you were upset, like when you were only hours old, she was able to project her love onto you. And that made you calm down. Not even Peter could get you as calm as Olivia did."

"My dad was good at calming me down?"

"Well the first few weeks he was a little tense. But he was your favourite person. Walter thinks it's because you could feel how much your mom loved him, and confused those emotions with yours," Astrid grins, "I think it's just because he was such a wonderful father, because he worked so hard to make sure you knew how much he loved you. I remember you always had the widest smile when you were in his arms. He was always hugging you and kissing you and making a fool out of himself to make you laugh. And Olivia," she pauses, "I'd never seen Olivia love someone so openly, not even your cousins. It's not like it was hard or anything to notice the way she looked at your dad. But with you, with you she was always spinning you around and laughing so much and speaking in silly voices. And she would sing. She sang all the time after she got you. Even whe – Even when you weren't with her, if she saw something that reminded you of her, she would start singing your lullaby, it was something about the stars, or maybe the moon."

Astrid catches herself when she starts talking about Olivia's lullaby. She has enough sense to pretend to not know exactly how it goes. Because she knows that if Etta knew she knew the lullaby her mother sang her, she would ask to sing it. And Astrid has never been good at saying no to Etta.

Astrid remembers Olivia singing the lullaby, in the weeks that Henrietta was gone. She remembers Olivia walking through the makeshift lab like a zombie, her hands weakly rummaging through Walter's piles of equipment, looking for anything of Etta's that Peter had forgotten to burn. And when she found something, like the old pacifier or her second favorite blanket, her breath would get shaky and she'd start lightly singing in a fragile voice.

_I see the moon_

_ The moon sees me _

_Shining through_

_The old oak tree_

Astrid swiftly brings the topic back to Peter, telling her about the swing set he built for her third birthday. And even though Etta is obviously enthralled in the story, Astrid doesn't miss the look of disappointment in Etta's eyes when she abruptly stopped talking about her mother.

_Please let the light_

_ That shines down on me_

Despite having Peter's eyes, they are filled with Olivia's ferocity. And that ferocity gives away Little H's hope like a siren.

She has not yet given up on her mother.

_Shine down on the one_

_ That I love_

And if Henrietta Elizabeth Dunham-Bishop, a girl who has grown up alone, in this horribly oppressed world still have hope for her mother, then surely Astrid can cling to hope too. If there is a chance that Olivia is out there somewhere, alive, then they will search for her. Hope lives. Hope for Olivia Dunham lies in the eyes of her daughter.

And as long as there in hope, then there is reason to fight.

_That's you._


End file.
